


Daryl Dixon x Reader

by moonstruckhargrove



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Daryl Dixon x Reader, F/M, Some Porn With Plot, some smut, the walking dead - Freeform, these are all trash and i'm sorry
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-19
Updated: 2018-03-06
Packaged: 2019-01-19 10:04:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 12,140
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12408297
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moonstruckhargrove/pseuds/moonstruckhargrove
Summary: Hey guys! So this was originally posted on Wattpad and then I decided to post it here! I'm also always open to prompts, which you can send over to me on my tumblr: wearemightyghosts.tumblr.com. Thanks for reading! Enjoy! x





	1. Girls' Night Pt. 1

You hadn’t had a girls’ night since…lord, you couldn’t even remember when. It had been Maggie’s idea, unsurprisingly. She argued that since you now had actual roofs over your heads, you could all let loose a little. And so, she planned an all-out girls’ night and invited you, Michonne, Carol, Tara, and Rosita. Michonne and you offered to bring a few bottles of wine, and Rosita had quipped that you’d need more than a few, while Tara and Maggie both said they’d cook something special for dinner.

So Maggie forced Glenn out of the house for the night, ordering him to go do something with the guys so the girls could have their fun. Of course Glenn then followed that up with requesting to watch the naked pillow fights that earned him a gentle slap upside the head and an extra push out the door, courtesy of his loving wife.

It was early in the evening and you were nearly ready to head to Maggie’s, a bottle of wine in each hand. You weren’t too sure whether the girls preferred white or red so you brought both, even though you knew they probably wouldn’t be too picky. Wine was wine, after all. You looked at yourself in the mirror. You’d chosen nothing special since the girls wouldn’t care less if you showed up naked, just a simple top and a pair of jeans that were just slightly too big. You’d twisted your hair into an eloquent ponytail, just to do something different.

Before the group had arrived at Alexandria, your outfit consisted of torn jeans, a bloody shirt, and no lack of dirt caking every inch of visible skin. You were sure you’d spent close to an hour in the shower upon arriving, wasting no time in scrubbing your skin until it was stinging and pink. You felt like you’d lost ten pounds just in dirt and grime alone. Showers were the luxury you’d missed the most, and, thanks to Alexandria’s solar panels, you could take a hot one pretty much whenever you wanted.

With one final look in the mirror, you nodded to yourself and headed downstairs. Michonne was waiting for you at the door, and she smiled when she noticed the bottles in your hands. She held up two of her own, though these were vodka and scotch.

“Good choices,” you said, impressed. “Where’d you dig those up?”

“Found them in a cupboard above the fridge. Guess no one thought to look there,” she responded with a shrug.

“More for us. Ready?”

Michonne nodded, opened the door, and off you went.

“This is going to feel weird,” you admitted lowly as the two of you walked the short distance to Maggie’s. “I mean, girls’ night? Wine? Socializing?”

“Seems like an extinct social construct, doesn’t it?” Michonne quipped with a look that said she thought the same.

You hummed your agreement and jogged up the porch steps, neither of you bothering to knock on the front door.

“Hello?” you called. You were answered by a pot slamming and a curse coming from the kitchen, and you exchanged an amused, knowing look with Michonne before stepping further into the house. “Everything okay in—whoa.”

The kitchen was a catastrophe. Pots littered the sink and the counter next to it, something boiled over on the stove, and Maggie and Tara looked as if they were in desperate need for help, while Rosita smartly kept to the sidelines. You and Michonne shared unladylike snorts and set the alcohol on the, thankfully, clean island.

“Where’s Carol when you need her?” Michonne asked, gathering dish towels to help clean up the mess. Like clockwork, the door opened and closed again, and Carol’s voice called out into the foyer.

All at once, the five of you called out, “In the kitchen!” The look on Carol’s face when she stepped into the kitchen was damn near priceless. It was a cross between wanting to burst out in laughter and offended at the state of such a sacred place.

“Oh my…” she muttered.

“We need some help,” Maggie said with a quick smile.

“I’ll say. First of all, turn that burner down before you light something on fire. Second, Michonne and (Y/N), take care of the dishes in that sink. We’re going to need the room.”

Carol was undoubtedly the mother hen of the group of you, and in no time at all the kitchen was clean and you were all digging into a simple spaghetti meal, laughing over poor Maggie and Tara’s attempts to cook.

“Honestly, all that over spaghetti?” Carol said with a teasing smile aimed at the two brunettes in question. They had the decency to look mildly ashamed even as they smiled at her.

“Never been a good cook,” Tara said, twirling spaghetti around on her fork.

“I think we could all see that, honey,” you teased with a snort into your glass of wine. You grunted when you felt Tara’s foot connect with your shin beneath the table. “Not cool.”

“Shall we move this party into the living room?” Maggie offered. “Leave the dishes. That I can handle.”

Each of you refilled your glass before heading into the living room and taking up various seats. You chose to sit on the floor by Michonne’s legs as she stretched out on the sofa, drinking carefully from her glass.

“If you spill that, you’re cleaning it out of that sofa,” Maggie warned with a twinkle in her eye. Michonne merely raised her glass in a salute of understanding.

“Isn’t it weird how we revert back to our old selves?” you asked. “Worrying about small things like wine stains on the sofa or a dirty kitchen.”

Carol smiled fondly across the coffee table. “That’s what happens when we have walls and safety.”

“We’re getting comfortable,” Rosita muttered, and that thought hung over all of your heads for a few moments. Your group had been out there, outside the walls for so long that it amazed you how quickly you’d all grown comfortable inside Alexandria. Sure, you all still went on runs, but it wasn’t the same. You weren’t just surviving anymore, you were thriving.

“Might not be a bad thing,” Maggie supplied, rocking back and forth as she sat cross-legged on the floor. “Feels pretty good to not have to look over your shoulder all the time.”

“Here, here,” chirped Michonne from her position on the sofa, raising her near-empty wine glass. This led to a chorus of cheers and the clinking of glasses as drinks were quickly refilled.

“A refill madam?” you asked Michonne in a horrible English accent, holding the wine bottle up. She lifted her glass and you tipped wine into it.

“Why thank you darling,” she replied in an accent just as fake, causing you both to dissolve into snorting laughter.

“Okay, now that we’ve all had a couple and had time to relax,” Maggie stated before shifting her position. She eyed you in particular, leaning forward to rest her elbows on her thighs. “What’s going on with you and Mr. Dixon, (Y/N)?”

You felt your face growing warm, and it wasn’t from the alcohol. The girls in the room all seemed to lean in towards you as well, eagerly awaiting your answer with buzzed, lopsided smiles.

You swallowed a hefty mouthful of wine. “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” you murmured, pointedly avoiding every one of their gazes.

“Don’t give us that bullshit,” Carol said. “We’ve all seen the way you look at him.”

“Like he’s filthy and needs to put these hot showers to good use?” you retorted with raised eyebrows. The girls exchanged knowing looks.

“You know,” Rosita said from her spot by the fireplace, “you could always help him out with that.” Her eyebrows wiggled up and down, the girls cackled and hooted, and you blushed even harder, quickly refilling your empty glass with a healthy amount of scotch. You were going to need something stronger than wine in order to listen to them.

Truth be told, you weren’t sure when your crush on the group’s brooding hunter even started. It definitely didn’t stem from the way he treated you. He wasn’t downright nasty to you, but he never went out of his way to pay attention to you either. You were just there to him, one of the group and part of his family. He would nod at you, acknowledge you, but you didn’t think the two of you had exchanged more than twenty words in the time you knew him.

But he was so much more to you. You witnessed firsthand how much he cared for the group despite his gruffness and his annoying ability to keep everyone at arms’ length. He saw everything that went on in the group, and, in spite of his attempts to keep himself distanced, he failed. He wasn’t one to sit by and let one of his group suffer alone. You admired him and that admiration had somehow blossomed into something more.

“Seriously, (Y/N),” Michonne said from behind you, laying a hand on your shoulder. She drunkenly began twirling her lithe fingers in your short dark hair. “You need to make a move on that. Never know when you’re gonna miss your chance. Can’t keep Daryl still for very long. Can’t even keep him within the damn walls. Life is short, as much as I hate that cliché.”

You twisted your mouth to the side, wondering how much you’d regret it if you gave in and confessed, even though the girls seemed pretty convinced they had you figured out. Michonne had a point; life was short before the end of the world. Now, nothing was a guarantee, and it wouldn’t do for you to die with regrets.

“I’ll tell him,” you relented, to the delight of the others. They squealed and clapped and exchanged happy glances. “But it’ll be on my terms. Might not be tomorrow, might not be next week. But…I’ll tell him. That’s the best any of you are gonna get.”

Carol smiled fondly. “We’ll take it,” she said with a shrug.

You didn’t see Daryl at all for the next few days. Through the grapevine you heard he and Aaron were on a recruiting trip that would take a few days, at the least. It only made you even more nervous. You saw the girls frequently around Alexandria, and each one of them would give you looks warning you against chickening out when Daryl returned. Internally you knew would chicken out of it, breaking your promise to the girls and to yourself.  
When he did return, you were seated on the porch of the house you shared with Michonne, Rick, Carl, and Judith, who you were currently keeping occupied for Rick. She was seated in the grass, running her chubby toddler fingers through it and pulling it up in clumps, babbling in incoherent baby speak.

You had a notebook in your lap, open to a page filled with doodles. You were running the pen over a drawing of a flower in the corner when a shadow fell upon the page. You glanced up, stomach dropping as the man who plagued your thoughts looked down on you, clearly injured. His face was battered and bruised, his lip bloody. You tossed the notebook aside and shot up from your perch.

“Jesus, Daryl, what the hell happened?” you asked, rushing forward to examine him. He flinched as you reached up towards his head. Ignoring the pang in your stomach, you turned to Judith and scooped her up before looking at him. “Come on, let’s get you cleaned up.”

You entered the house, Daryl hesitantly following you inside. You set Judith down in the living room in her playpen before directing your attention to the injured hunter bleeding on the foyer floor.

“Come on.” You led him upstairs to the bathroom and had to all but shove him to get him to sit down. It didn’t escape you that he still hadn’t said a word to you. As you dug out the first aid kit, you asked, “You gonna tell me what happened?”

You looked over your shoulder at him, frowning as he glared down at his hands, which he clasped together in his lap. Sighing, you carried the first aid kit over and knelt in front of him. You dapped a gauze pad in peroxide before bringing it up towards his face.

“This is going to hurt,” you warned, holding your empty hand up next to his opposite cheek. You swallowed when he flinched away from you as the peroxide came into contact with his lip, probably stinging the shit out of it. “Sorry.”

Once you’d tended to the cut on his lip and the one by his eyebrow that you hadn’t noticed, you moved to check the wound at his side.

“Can I see?” you asked warily, glancing up at him when his body stiffened. Slowly, he moved to peel off his leather vest. He tossed it behind you, leaving him in a dirty navy shirt. You exhaled sharply when you took in the large dark stain oozing through the material. With another wary glance up at him, you lifted the bottom of his shirt.

He turned his head away, closing his eyes as you placed your hands on his heated skin. The wound was clearly from a sharp weapon. Internally you were relieved it wasn’t a walker bite, even though you knew walkers didn’t throw punches. The gash was easily seven inches long and deep, bleeding heavily down his side.

“Shit, Daryl,” you murmured, reaching for a towel to press to the wound. You picked up his hand, again ignoring his flinch, and held it against the wound. “Hold that there a second. You’ll definitely need stitches.”

You turned away to reach for the sutures, dousing the needle in peroxide before threading it. You took a deep breath, trying to tune out the pounding of your heart from being in such close proximity to a nearly-shirtless Daryl, and approached him with the needle.

“This is going to hurt more. I’m sorry,” you said sincerely. You reached over his hip before realizing the angle was tough. “Can you turn this way just a bit? Perfect. Hold still. I haven’t done this in a long time.”

He sat stone-still as you sewed up the gash, though you noticed the twitching of his abdominal muscles every time you pulled the stitches through his skin.

“Little bird told me you’ve got a crush on me.”

His voice startled you as you were pulling the final stitch, and you gasped and pulled slightly on the needle. He grunted with the pain and you glared half-heartedly up at him.

“Seriously, you’re going to do that as I’ve got a needle through your skin?” you retorted through the flushing of your cheeks. He was looking down at you through his hair, waiting for a reply. You swallowed and set your jaw. “Who told you? Maggie, Michonne, Carol? Or was it Tara? She can have a big mouth.”

“Tara.”

“I owe her a knuckle sandwich,” you muttered. To your surprise, Daryl snorted, his personal version of a laugh. You sighed. “So much for telling you myself. You’re all done. Keep it clean—that means showering.” You forced yourself not to imagine Daryl naked in the shower and rose up off your knees, turning away from him. His hand around your wrist stopped you from stepping away, and you turned to look at him.

“You gon’ talk about it?” he asked roughly.

You shrugged. “What’s there to talk about? You know my deepest, darkest secret, Daryl Dixon.” You smiled mockingly, completely towards yourself, before pulling your wrist from his hand. “I need to check on Judith.”

“Why me?” he asked quietly as you reached the door. You stop, rapping your knuckle on the doorframe before turning around to face him with a shrug.

“Why not you?”


	2. Girls' Night Pt. 2

**A** s you expected, Daryl kept his distance from you while he healed. You saw him periodically around Alexandria, mostly talking with Rick and hopefully about what happened to him. You weren't angry with him, harbored no ill feelings for his blatant ignorance of your feelings towards him.

When he'd asked you 'why him', you'd briefly thought of telling him all of the wonderful things you saw when you looked at him. But then you remembered that Daryl Dixon was not a man who was swayed by pretty words, and so you'd bitten your tongue and given him a different answer instead. An answer that, hopefully, maybe, he'd put thought into.

But you never found out. He avoided you, though part of you wanted to believe that wasn't what he was doing. The day after you patched Daryl up in your bathroom, you told Michonne and then Maggie, feeling that the two of them would most likely keep quiet and offer you consolation. You didn't resent Tara for spilling the beans; in fact, most of you was thankful that you didn't have to tell him yourself and hear his rejection. By being the first to walk away, you'd accepted that he wouldn't feel the same for you.

Tara did come to apologize, though, profusely and dramatically. It had made you laugh, and without hesitation you accepted her apology and fist-bumped it out. You knew your feelings were one-sided, so there was no harm done.

So it was a surprise when Daryl sought you out as you took watch on the top of the wall exactly two weeks later. It was your turn on the overnight shift—you'd begged and pleaded with Rick for a shift to keep yourself busy until he gave in with a long sigh. It wasn't a surprise that Daryl wasn't asleep at this hour. Back at the prison, you'd known him to wander the halls in the middle of the night, his soft footsteps not as silent as he'd thought they were.

He climbed the ladder with a grunt before walking down the length of the wall towards you. Your grip on your rifle adjusted, tightening in nervousness as he stalked towards you in that predatory way he had.

You cleared your throat, keeping your eyes trained on the darkness beyond Alexandria. "Hey."

He grunted in reply, coming to a stop beside you, shoulder-to-shoulder. He was close, much closer than you'd ever been except for when you stitched him up in the bathroom. You could feel the heat radiating from his body through his leather jacket, and it was unsettling.

"What are you doing up here? You're not scheduled for watch until tomorrow."

"Ain't gonna ask how you know that," he responded, causing you to snort. "Couldn't sleep."

"So you came to the wall?" you asked slowly, disbelievingly as you raised your eyebrows. He ducked his head and shrugged, crossing his arms over his chest.

Closing himself off.

"Nothin' better t'do. Might as well be useful."

"Well," you sighed, "your trip may have been for nothing. It's a ghost town out there. Except for this guy." You looked straight down at the base of the wall, where a walker had stupidly impaled himself on one of the cars with pipes stuck through it. "Dumb asshole."

"You gonna take care of him?" Daryl asked, watching the walker as it reached its rotten arms up towards you.

"Nah, he's not bothering anybody. Not yet anyway."

Daryl shifted beside you, and you watched him as he pulled his crossbow from his shoulder and handed it to you.

"What?" you asked, glancing between the weapon and him.

"Shoot 'im," he replied.

"I don't know how to use that thing," you huffed laughingly, like it was a joke.

"I'll load it for ya. Ya gonna learn."

"Now? In the dark?" He hummed and quickly loaded the crossbow with a clean bolt. "Won't that be a waste of an arrow?"

"I'll get in the mornin'," he said with a shrug. He peered over at you through his bangs as he held the loaded crossbow out to you again. "Go on."

Reluctantly and slowly, you set your rifle down on the wall beside you before taking the crossbow from his hands.

"It's heavier than I thought it would be," you observed, struggling to lift it a bit as you adjusted to its weight. You lifted the sight to your eye, aiming, before you felt Daryl moving beside you. You tensed, and you were positive he noticed as he repositioned your feet and your hands on the bow. You swallowed thickly, his warm hands engulfing yours as he instructed you.

"It's gonna kick, so be ready," he said before stepping away and crossing his arms again.

You inhaled deeply, trying to steady your racing heart, and squeezed the trigger on your exhale. The bolt released from the bow with a twang, and the bolt hit home in the walker's skull. It slumped forward on the pipes, dripping black blood onto the grass.

"Shit," you said, surprised with yourself. "I did it."

"Not bad for a first timer," Daryl complimented, giving you a ghost of a smile that you returned with a blush. He took the weapon back, his hand brushing against yours, and you quickly took a step back, turning away to pick your rifle up off the wall.

"Thanks for the lesson," you told him, your back still facing him. You moved further down the wall, needing to put some distance between the two of you, and you were thankful he decided to stay put and watch you leave. God, Daryl Dixon was watching you walk away.

A sudden thought occurred to you, stopping you in your tracks. You turned on your heel and walked back towards Daryl, who was watching you in confusion.

"Was this your plan all along?" you asked hotly. "The end to your little game? Avoid me for two weeks before suddenly deciding to grace me with your presence, only to get me all riled up thinking I might actually have a chance, so you can avoid me again?"

He opened his mouth to speak, but you quickly cut him off. "Never mind, I really don't want to know. But sure, let's make fun of the girl who has a stupid crush on the resident redneck. It's a tragedy waiting to happen."

You laughed condescendingly at yourself, feeling an onslaught of tears prick your eyes. Before Daryl could have the satisfaction of seeing you cry, you whirled around again and stomped off towards the second ladder, wanting to be as far from his as possible.

You climbed gracelessly down the ladder, made difficult by the rifle slapping against your back, but you walked on, sniffling and wiping your eyes as the tears fell. You deposited your gun back into the armory, signing it in, before heading off for home. You really needed sleep.

You quietly crept up to your room, shedding clothing once locked safely inside. The open window provided a breeze as you tucked yourself into bed, letting yourself cry into your pillow. You hugged it to your chest, believing you were completely wrong about Daryl—he didn't care nearly as much as you thought he did. After your tears subsided, you fell into a fitful sleep.

It was your turn to avoid Daryl, making sure to be far away when he was within Alexandria's walls. You managed to get outside the walls on a run with Tara, Glenn, and an Alexandrian named Nicholas, and it provided you with the perfect distraction. You had to keep your head clear of anything pertaining to Daryl in order to keep the others safe—just what you needed.

For once, the run went almost completely as planned, and you all made it back safely. The group was there to welcome you back. Michonne walked over to you and took your face in her hands, examining the scrape on your head. Behind her, apart from the group as usual, was Daryl, watching everything with that unreadable look on his face. You pursed your lips and averted your eyes, looking at Michonne.

"The hell happened?" she asked. You offered her a sheepish smirk.

"Tripped over my own two feet, scraped it up on the concrete." She rolled her eyes dramatically with a grin before wrapping an arm around you.

"Let's get you cleaned up."

As she led you towards your house, you pointedly kept your eyes away from Daryl as you passed him, sidestepping to avoid touching him. You didn't need to look back to know that he had turned to watch you go. Once safe inside the house and seated on a kitchen stool at the island, Michonne cornered you.

"Okay, what the hell was that back there?" she asked, pulling out the peroxide and a cloth. She doused the cloth before holding it to the scrape on your head, and you winced at the burn.

"What are you talking about?" you muttered through clenched teeth, as the peroxide did its job under your skin. It was an awful burn, one that made your eyes water.

"Don't give me that. What happened with Daryl?" She gave you a look that warned against bullshitting her, so, with a heavy sigh, you spilled everything while she pressed a gauze pad to your head and secured it with medical tape. She stepped away from you when she finished, her arms crossed and an unhappy frown on her face.

"You gonna fix it then?" she asked. You shrugged.

"What's there to fix? He's made it clear he doesn't feel the same way. I'll get over it."

"I'm not talking about that. I'm talking about you up and accusing him of being an asshole who's toying with your feelings. You know Daryl—he doesn't do well with feelings and talking about them. You probably scared the shit out of him so bad he didn't know what to do."

"Fuck," you groaned, raking your fingers through your hair.

"Yeah, fuck. How you gonna fix this one?"

Michonne was one of your closest friends, but you also knew she was particularly close to Daryl as well, and fiercely protective of him. And even you had to admit you had royally fucked up.


	3. Girls' Night Pt. 3

**F** inding Daryl when he didn't want to be found was like finding a needle in a haystack. Michonne had promptly kicked you out with an order of fixing whatever was going on between you and Daryl. Easier said than done.

Your feet carried you to Aaron's house where, as your luck would have it, you found Daryl in the garage, tinkering away at the motorcycle Aaron had given him in exchange for becoming a recruiter. Automatically, you slowed your pace, trying to figure out what you were going to say to him. "I'm sorry" didn't seem like it would quite cut it with him. He didn't look up as you ducked into the garage, boots scuffing on the cement, didn't falter in his movements as you drew closer, and your heart sunk.

"Daryl?" you asked tentatively. "Could, um, could I talk to you?" His hands stopped working and his head turned towards you. Suddenly your tongue felt thick and your throat dry. You had no idea where to even start.

"You gonna talk or what?" he snapped, his voice causing you to jump.

"I, um, I just wanted to..."

"To what? Apologize? Wasted your damn time then," he intercepted roughly.

"Daryl, I didn't—"

He stood up then, aggressively tossing the wrench in his hands back into the toolbox with a clatter. He took one long stride towards you, putting him in your space as he glared down at you through his bangs.

"Yer wastin' your damn time," he growled, his breath fanning across your face. You moved to step back, but something in his tone made you stop.

Then it hit you.

You held eye contact with him for a minute, trying to search his face even but then he averted his eyes to anywhere but you. His discomfort was evident—he shifted from foot to foot, looking around the garage, only making eye contact with you for a second before he looked elsewhere.

"Daryl? Are you— _oomph_."

You were cut off abruptly by Daryl's mouth on yours. It was clumsy, a colliding of teeth and lips, and you lifted your hands to place them on Daryl's cheeks to steady him as your eyes fluttered closed. The kiss turned softer, slower, and more hesitant as you moved your hands from Daryl's face to his neck, letting your fingers tangle in the hair on the back of his neck. You sighed deeply into his mouth before you pulled away, leaving your hands in his hair.

Opening your eyes, you were unsurprised to see Daryl's were still closed. You moved your hands down to his chest, where it was heaving beneath your palms.

  
"Daryl?" you said lowly. His eyes opened slowly and he peered at you through his bangs.

"Yer wastin' your time," he said for a third time. This time, though, his tone was defeated, resigned, and your heart broke. Reaching up, you ran your thumb over his cheek before rising up on your toes to kiss him again, harder this time, and his hands left his sides to settle on your waist.

"I think I'll be the judge of that," you murmured quietly, letting your forehead rest on his. "Look, the real reason I came over here was to apologize for what I said the other night. I, um, it wasn't right, accusing you of something like that."

Daryl lifted a hand hesitantly before placing it on your cheek, and you leaned into his touch. "'S okay," he replied. "I get it. Probably would've done the same thing."

"So," you said, glancing down nervously as Daryl found a stray piece of your hair and twirled it around his finger. "Um, does that mean you, uh...you know, feel the same as I do?"

His face flushed crimson, his blue eyes meeting yours for a fleeting second before looking down at his feet, and he nodded, a quick, jerky bob of his head. Relief flooded you and you exhaled shakily, somewhat in disbelief that something like this could happen to you.

"And here I thought you never saw me," you said, relieved, under your breath. Daryl's face changed to an expression of confusion. You felt his fingers grasp your chin, turning your face upwards so he could look you in the eye.

"Why would ya think that? Course I saw ya. Just too chicken shit t'do anythin' about it." Your face warmed.

"You weren't too chicken shit to call me out on the crush I have on you," you pointed out, laughing softly when his face went red again. He cleared his throat and stepped completely away from you, your body growing cold from the lack of body heat. He adjusted his vest, obviously uncomfortable, and you just smiled fondly.

"Wanted to make sure," he finally replied gruffly, "'fore I did somethin' stupid."

"Like kiss me?" you teased, laughing again when he blushed for the third time.

"Stop."

Smiling gently, you moved towards him, wrapping your arms around his waist. You ignored his stiff body posture; knowing what you did about Daryl, you knew physical contact wasn't his cup of tea and that he'd taken a huge leap by initiating that kiss. Daryl lifted a hand to his mouth between your bodies to chew on his thumbnail, which you immediately stopped with a gentle hand on his wrist.

"Ain't good at this," he mumbled, looking down at you through his eyelashes. You smiled again and reached up to brush his hair out of his face.

"Something tells me you're a fast learner."

 _Fin._     


	4. Stuff of Nightmares

**Y** ou'd been at the prison for nearly a month now. The community was thriving, morale was at an all-time high. You were all enjoying at least two square meals each day, thanks to the efforts of the hunters and runners. It was beautiful day outside; summer was beginning its transition into autumn, leaving the air crisp and fresh. You stepped out into the sunlight, stretching your arms over your head. You'd been on watch the night before, a new job that you had to talk Rick into letting you have. You hated feeling useless; you owed his group your life for taking you in after the Governor abandoned Woodbury. It was the least you could do.

Carol was manning the grill, turning meat over with a pair of tongs. Besides the prison setting, it was almost like they were having a big family barbecue. Except in place of burgers and hot dogs it was squirrel and venison. You walked over to her, smiling brightly.

"Hey (Y/N)," she greeted, nodding and smiling. She put a couple pieces of meat on a plate and passed it to you. "How was watch last night?"

"Eh, the usual. Quiet on all fronts," you replied with a shrug. You speared a piece of meat on your fork and shoved it in your mouth, chewing slowly.

"You finish that crossword book of yours?" she asked with a smirk, causing you to flush slightly. It was a well-known fact to everyone that you had a knack for words, and so every time a run was scheduled you'd shyly ask if someone could pick up a new crossword book if they came across one.

"Nearly," you said around a mouthful of meat. "Got a couple that are giving me a hard time."

"You'll figure them out. Afternoon, Daryl," Carol said suddenly, looking over your shoulder. You immediately felt your stomach flutter and your body tense nervously. The hunter brushed by you, sending you a glare. You swallowed.

You weren't sure why, but ever since you'd arrived at the prison, Daryl would send you and the rest of the Woodbury residents glares and sneers. You'd bumped into him once in the hallway in the prison, and he'd hollered for you to "get the fuck out of his way". Then you heard him growl something menacing to one of the other Woodbury men that made your hands shake.

Daryl Dixon was not a man to be trifled with.

He took a plate from Carol and remained by her side, shoving meat into his mouth with his fingers. You turned your attention back to your plate with a frown as the three of you fell into a more than awkward silence. It was nearly suffocating, so you finished eating quickly, put your dirty dish in the bin, and walked off without a look back.

&

That night, you sat up awake in your bunk, unable to sleep. Your lantern was on, throwing the room in a dull orange glow while you attempted to complete your crossword puzzle. You squinted in the dull light, trying to read the clue and think it over when a cry echoed out from cellblock. You looked towards the doorway, waiting for another sound.

Whoever it was, they didn't disappoint.

When the second cry came, you set aside your book and stood up, wincing at the cold cement floor on your bare feet. You tiptoed out into the hallway, following the sounds of whimpers and groans. The trail brought you to the warden's office, which you knew Daryl had claimed for his sleeping quarters. Reluctance settled in your gut, but when you heard him let out a pained cry through the open door, you brushed it aside.

Daryl was asleep on the futon in the office, his shoes off and his vest draped over the chair by the desk. You frowned upon seeing his fists bunched in the blankets and his face pinched in obvious pain from whatever was haunting his dreams. Sighing and rolling your eyes to the ceiling, you padded softly into the room and over to the sleeping hunter.

You laid a hand gently on his shoulder, shaking it. "Daryl. Daryl, wake up. You're dreaming."

You gasped aloud as Daryl jolted awake and his arm shot out, his hand wrapping around your throat. Sleep glazed his eyes as he opened them, but as he became fully conscious, his eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

"Daryl," you said hoarsely, "Daryl, please let me go. You're hurting me." Like you'd burned him he retracted his hand, letting it tangle in his hair.

"What are you doing here?" he growled, turning those fiery blue eyes to you in a glare. You ran a hand over your throat, not missing it when his eyes followed the movement.

"You were dreaming, making a lot of noise. I wanted to make sure you were all right."

He scoffed and looked away, sitting up on his elbows. "Why ya care?"

"Because no one deserves that. Even hot-tempered douchebag rednecks," you replied easily, crossing your arms over your chest. "Look, I know you have a problem with us, with...with me. I'm not sure why, but we aren't the Governor. We were the ones who were kept in the dark, living under a man like him. If we had known any sooner, I guarantee there would have been no one left in Woodbury."

Daryl was silent and still glaring, though it had lost its intensity. He scoffed and lay back down, staring up at the ceiling. You supposed it was the closest you were going to get for an apology for his behavior.

"Um, well, if you're all right, I'll just..."

"Yeah," Daryl finished. You turned to head towards the door, but his voice called you back. He had lifted his head, his thumbnail in his mouth. "Thanks."

Smiling softly, you nodded and closed the door behind you as you left.


	5. Scars

**Y** ou stared at your reflection in the mirror sullenly. You were standing in your underwear with the intention of taking a hot shower courtesy of Alexandria's solar panels, but the marks littering your body made you pause. Before all of this, your skin was clean, clear, and unmarked. Now, it was riddled with bruises and scars, some more gnarly than others. One in particular had caught your eye—an ugly gash that stretched from just below your ear down to your breasts.

People in this world weren't the same; their morals had changed, and many of them resorted to baser instincts. You had a run-in with some of these people a while back, before Rick's group found you. They put you through hell for no reason other than "it was fun". The women of the group were nasty but the men were ten times worse, naturally. They left you bruised and bleeding, for dead, and you somehow found the strength to carry on, even though your mind and body were screaming for you to give up.

Now, here you stood, criticizing your body in the mirror. The people of Alexandria stared at the scar on your face; Ricks' group had been wary of you as well, based on your appearance, but they learned to trust you, learned to ignore the marring on your face. These new people, the Alexandrians, they were much less subtle about their staring and whispering.

You had never had issues with yourself, with your appearance, but now...now you weren't so good at blocking everyone else out. With watery eyes, you quickly stripped and showered, not wanting to look at yourself any further.

Once you were clothed, you dug through the drawers in the bathroom and found a hefty supply of makeup. With a relieved sigh, you got to work in hiding the puckered skin going down your neck. When it was covered completely, you stepped back from the mirror, looking over your work. You nodded in satisfaction, feeling lighter knowing that it was now invisible.

"The hell you doin'?" a voice groused outside the door. You jumped, dropping the foundation on the counter, and whirled to face Daryl, who stood in the hallway. He had narrowed his eyes, and you averted yours when he zeroed in on your neck. "What'd you do?"

Self-consciously you covered the scar with your hand, biting your lip in shame as a fresh bout of tears pricked your eyes. You closed them when Daryl stepped into the bathroom and inhaled sharply when he pulled your hand away from your neck.

"Why'd you cover it?" he asked lowly. You kept your eyes closed as you shook your head. He stepped closer and you could feel the heat from his body. You squeezed your eyes closed tighter as you felt his hand under your chin. "(Y/N), why'd you cover it? Look at me."

"I'm tired, Daryl," you whispered finally. Daryl's grip on your chin loosened, but he didn't let go of it or your hand. "I'm tired of hearing what these people say about me. I... I can't listen to it anymore. So I...I made it go away."

"Hey." You let your eyes open slowly, staring at the stitching in his navy shirt. He put pressure on your chin, forcing you to look up at him. "You ain't gotta hide that. Ever. You're a survivor. That's what those mean." You scoffed disbelievingly and looked away, but his fingers tightened on your chin.

"You ain't the only one with scars," he said hesitantly. He then turned to close the bathroom door. He kept his back to you as he unbuttoned his shirt. It fell open and he let the garment drift down his shoulders. You gasped as it fell away, taking in the sight of the marks crisscrossing the skin of his back. He dropped the shirt to the floor and stood there, his shoulders stiff and hunched.

"Daryl..." you started, but you had no words. The scars along his back were aged, probably from before the world went to hell. Someone did this to him, just like you. One jagged scar stretched from shoulder to shoulder, colliding with the tattoo on his shoulder blade. Tears sprang to your eyes again and you pressed a hand to your mouth to stifle your sobs.

Daryl bent to pick up his shirt, covering his back again but leaving the front unbuttoned. He stepped closer to you, resting a hand on your cheek as you cried.

"You're a survivor, (Y/N)," he repeated. You glanced up through your lashes and blurry vision to meet his eyes. The blue depths held so many years of pain and vulnerability, but above those was a strength you'd always known he carried. His jaw was set as he picked up a washcloth and wet it under the sink. He pressed it to your neck, wiping away the makeup to leave your scar pink and glistening. "Hell if I'm gonna let you hide that."

He set the washcloth on the counter and placed his hands on your shoulders, turning you to face your reflection. Your eyes were red and your face was splotchy, but you held Daryl's stare in the mirror. His hands were warm on your shoulders and you watched, tensed when he lowered his head to your neck and pressed a soft kiss to the scar. The gesture brought a fresh wave of tears to your eyes and you reached up to clasp one of his large hands in yours, holding it tightly as if it were a lifeline.

He kept his mouth close to your ear and whispered, "You're beautiful, (Y/N), scars and all. Don't ever let someone make you think otherwise."    


	6. Can't Sleep without You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this started out as something completely different and it ended up…well, like this. Enjoy you perverts.

I laid awake, sighing as voices drifted up from the street through my open window. Moonlight illuminated the room, giving it an ethereal feel—especially since it was an actual bedroom—but I was feeling far from relaxed. I laid on top of the covers, knowing I’d be getting minimal sleep tonight. I could never sleep when he wasn’t beside me. I’d grown so used to the familiar warmth that I felt cold and didn’t feel whole, like I was missing something.  
In a way, I was.   
I tuned out the voices outside and rolled over to face his side of the bed. Empty, for the second night in a row. Though he hated it when I worried, I couldn’t help it, especially when his absence was so out of my control that it frustrated me. But I knew he needed his time away. He wasn’t a caged bird and he never would be. He craved being outside the walls like I craved always being next to him.

It took us a long time to get to this point—to the point where he was completely comfortable with me. We still had our off days like every couple did, but he and I were both getting better at using our words to talk out our problems, rather than shove everything aside to brew and implode later. It saved us a lot of arguments in the long run. He still had trouble putting into words exactly how he was feeling, but I had learned that quickly about him and tried not to take offense to something he said, and when he struggled with saying something, I usually could tell what point he was trying to make. Then he’d look at me with relief that I was getting it, despite his inabilities to properly voice what was going on in his head.

I remembered when he and I first met out in the woods, about two years ago. He was looking for a lost little girl, and we’d stumbled upon one another, aiming our respective weapons and sizing each other up. I knew I didn’t stand a chance with my machete against his crossbow, but hell if I would go down without a fight. Slowly, we’d each lowered our weapons, and I ended up aiding him and his group in their search. Two days later, tragedy struck, and they offered me the chance to stick with them. Seeing no other option than heading out on my own (which I was not exactly eager to do), I agreed.

Our relationship with one another was definitely volatile in the beginning stages. He and I would butt heads way more often than was necessary, thanks to our equally-matched bull-headedness, but somewhere along the line—probably after Lori died—that strong dislike evolved into a mutual respect before we ended up where we were now—sharing a home and a bed together in a walled community.

I sat up when the front door opened and closed downstairs. The scuffing of boots on the hardwood pulled me out of bed to stand at the top of the stairs, looking down into the darkened house. A shadow passed in the foyer and bent over to remove its boots. I knew who it was without even having to say anything, but I did.

“You’re late.” I didn’t say it harshly, only observant, and the shadow stilled before straightening. Even in the dark I could feel those perceptive eyes on me. They always saw more than my mouth gave away, and it was both a beautiful feeling and a curse all at once.

“Got hung up,” he replied in his rough Southern twang. I watched his shoulders move in a shrug. It wasn’t often that he came home spilling his guts out about what happened outside the walls. It wasn’t always good news, and he knew I worried despite his telling me not to. I didn’t see his omission of details about his hunts or runs as a form of avoidance—he was home, unhurt, and that was all that mattered. Anything else that may have happened, he either kept to himself or told Rick if it was important enough to mention.

He climbed the stairs after leaving his boots by the door, and I could smell the woodsy aroma mixed with his usual masculine scent. His eyes twinkled in the dark as he hit the top of the stairs and he leaned over to press a kiss to my temple before walking past me towards the bathroom.

“What ya doin’ up?” he asked, flipping on the light. I squinted against it and then took in his form. He was covered head to toe in dirt and grime and who knew what else, and the water in the sink ran nearly black as he scrubbed his hands.

I leaned against the doorframe, crossing my arms and shrugging. “Couldn’t sleep.”

He gave me a pointed look as he shut off the tap and dried his hands on a towel.

“What?” I asked, semi-defensively. He made to walk out of the bathroom with the intention of going to bed, but I laid a hand on his chest to stop him. “Whoa, whoa. You’re not getting in that bed. You’re filthy.”

“Thought you liked my dirtiness?” He smirked, and my cheeks tinged red with the double entendre.

“I do but not when it gets all over clean sheets. Go take a shower and then maybe I won’t make you sleep outside,” I teased, turning around to wait in the bedroom. His warm arms wrapped around my middle and pulled me back into his chest.

“No ya don’t,” he growled into my ear, sending the best kind of shivers down my spine. He turned me around in his arms, looking down at me with fire in his eyes. “Only way I’m showerin’ is if you’re in there with me.”

Sighing, I wrapped my arms around his waist and rose up on my toes to firmly press my lips to his. “Fine.”

We stripped wordlessly, and even after being together for so long, it still made my blood run hot to watch the muscles rippling beneath his skin. Being on the road had been more than kind to his body as well as mine. I was in the best shape of my life. He stepped into the steaming shower first and I grimaced at all of the dirt washing off his body in rivulets, turning the water brown, and then disappearing down the drain.

I stepped in behind him, shamelessly admiring the view, before wrapping my arms around him and pressing a kiss to his shoulder blade. He sighed heavily, ducking his head beneath the water, and I reached around him for the shampoo. I squeezed a dollop into my hands as he turned to face me and lifted my hands to his hair, scrubbing thoroughly. His eyes closed and he leaned into my hands as I washed him. He groaned as I dragged my nails across his scalp before pushing him backwards under the stream of water to rinse the shampoo out. I did the same with our pine-scented soap, lathering it in my hands before running it over every inch of his skin.

I smirked as I felt a pressure against my lower stomach and his eyes darkened as he looked at me.

“Someone missed me,” I whispered hoarsely. He grumbled low in his chest, reaching back for the shampoo. I sighed as his hands delved into my hair, massaging my scalp like I did for him. I kept my hands on his wrists as he scrubbed firmly but gently. It still made my breath hitch when he showed me how gentle he could be despite his rough exterior.

“Ya look tired,” he said lowly, spinning us so he could rinse my hair. I closed my eyes as the water slid down my face.

“I can’t sleep without you,” I told him honestly, letting my eyes open to meet his. He chewed the inside of his cheek and lathered soap in his hands, dropping his gaze to them uncomfortably. They were rough as he dragged them across my body, cleaning me just as I had done. I knew heartfelt honesty sometimes made him uncomfortable, but he learned to take it in stride. Sometimes, if I was lucky, I got some of that honesty in return.

“Ya need to. Can’t have ya runnin’ yaself ragged just ‘cause I’m not here,” he mumbled. The soap slid off my body as his hands ran over it. I lifted my arms to wrap around his neck.

“Won’t ever get used to you being gone,” I muttered back. He ducked his head, another nervous habit, and I laid a hand on his cheek, urging him to look at me. “I know you need it and I’m not about to stop you. I just…miss you, is all.”

Pink tinged his cheeks and without another word he wrapped his arms around me and pulled me flush against his chest. His mouth descended on mine, letting me know just how much he had missed me as well. I sighed into his mouth as he wasted no time in letting his tongue tangle with mine. I tangled my hands in his wet hair, tugging on it and spurring him to growl in his throat. Heat rushed to my core; I loved the animalistic noises I could coax out of him.

His body was warm and welcoming, a stark contrast against the cold tile of the shower as he pressed me back against it. One large hand slid down my side to my thigh and hiked my leg onto his hip. I could feel him, hard and ready, against my thigh and I reached down to wrap my hand around him. He pulled his mouth away to let a moan through, gritting his teeth as I pumped him slowly. His hips followed the movement and the hand on my thigh dove between us to tease at my folds.

I let my head fall back against the tile, moaning lowly as he dipped a finger slowly inside me. He curled it upwards, brushing against my clit, and I jerked my hips. He continued his teasing and a ball of heat coiled in the pit of my stomach. My grip tightened slightly around him and I pumped him faster. He bowed his head, capturing my lips again in a kiss that had my knees buckling as he moved his finger faster against me.

“Daryl,” I moaned wantonly, my mouth falling open as I drew closer to my peak. My hand fell away from him to grip onto his shoulders, digging my nails in. “Don’t stop.”

“Wasn’t planning on it,” he growled against my neck as he placed wet kisses against my skin. His voice sent another shockwave of heat to my core, and with a loud cry of his name, I was falling apart against him. My body shuddered and I saw stars behind my eyelids as I squeezed them closed in ecstasy.

I didn’t have much time to come down as Daryl grunted and quickly wrapped his hands around my thighs and lifted me into the air before sliding into me with one expert swivel of his hips. I moaned again as he buried himself to the hilt inside my throbbing core and quickly set a brutal pace. He buried his head in my neck as he thrusted into me, the sound of skin slapping against skin the only sound in the bathroom. The water had long since run cold, but I hardly paid any mind as I lowered my head and bit into the skin of his shoulder.

Goosebumps broke out against his skin as I marked him as mine and he mumbled against my neck, “Ain’t gonna last long.”

I moaned once as the tip of his dick hit a spot deep inside me. “Come for me, Daryl.” I pulled his earlobe into my mouth, grazing my teeth against it, and that was all it took. With a roar muffled in my neck, he emptied himself inside me, his hips stuttering as I clenched my walls around him. He moaned as his dick twitched inside me, his chest heaving against mine. I weaved my fingers in his hair, pulling his head back to plant a slow and lazy kiss on his lips, fully satiated.

He withdrew from me but kept his arms around me as he lowered me to the floor. My legs felt like jelly and I leaned against his warm chest as he reached over to shut off the water. He stepped away from me to grab a towel from the rack before dropping it on my head. I snorted and yanked it off, smiling playfully at him as I dried myself off. He did the same and fastened the towel around his waist, letting me get an eyeful of his broad chest. He smirked as he caught me staring and shook the water from his hair.

“Done wore me out girl,” he joked. I quirked an eyebrow challengingly.

“I highly doubt that, Dixon. I for one happen to know you have the stamina of a racehorse,” I retorted. He snorted and slapped my behind playfully as I walked across the hall to the bedroom.

I dug into the laundry basket for one of his rare clean shirts and threw it on, fully aware of Daryl’s eyes on me as I did so. I turned around, my wet hair hanging over one shoulder, and the look on his face made me pause.

“What is it?” I murmured. I knew his facial expressions well by now, knew when he was trying to think of a way to say something. He walked towards me slowly before taking me gently into his arms, tugging me back against his chest. He dipped his head and kissed me long and slow, stealing the breath from my lungs.

“I love ya,” he mumbled against my mouth. I stared up into his eyes, seeing the truth swimming in those blue depths, and felt my heart lurch against my chest. I smiled and wrapped my arms around him. I knew he felt it, but hearing it was another joy entirely.

“Love you too. Come on, it’s late.”

We climbed into bed, settling against one another as if we hadn’t spent the past two nights apart. He slept nude, and his chest radiated heat as I cuddled up against it, my head over his heart. It thudded beautifully in my ear. I felt him press a kiss to my head and I sighed in content, closing my eyes and feeling thoroughly at home.

“I’ll be here in the mornin’,” he promised just before I dropped off into one of the most peaceful sleeps I’ve had in a long time.


	7. Bang, Not a Whimper

 

 **T** here was a commotion at the front gate. People flooded the streets, headed towards the gate to see what was happening. I was no different. Setting down the clipboard, I left the armory behind Olivia and passed her as I jogged to the gate. Confusion was rampant in my mind, but when I saw Rick barking orders with a fearful look on his face, a lead weight dropped into my stomach. Glenn and Aaron were pulling someone from a car, and I didn't need to guess who when Rick's eyes met mine over the car. He ran around it and stopped in front of me, essentially blocking my view.

That lead weight turned to full-fledged panic as I felt my eyes watering. "What happened?"

Rick sighed and reached out to lay a hand on my shoulder, but I jerked away. "Rick, what the fuck happened?"

"He fell down an embankment, hit his head pretty hard and got impaled on a broken branch." I inhaled sharply, briefly wishing I hadn't asked, before I roughly moved past him to see Daryl cradled between Glenn and Aaron, bloody and bruised and not moving.

"Oh my god," I whispered, keeping pace with them as they rushed him to the infirmary. His side was bandaged with a cloth stained crimson, and his head was bleeding from a gash I couldn't see. My chest felt constricted as Glenn and Aaron squeezed through the door to the infirmary and gently laid the unconscious Daryl on an empty bed. Immediately, the sheets were stained through with his blood, and the sight turned my stomach. I pressed a hand to my mouth to keep the bile down as sweat broke out on my forehead and my breathing picked up, the signs of an oncoming panic attack.

Denise, our resident doctor, gently moved me aside to begin looking Daryl over, barking out orders that my mind tuned out. All I could do was watch as he was jostled around as Denise pulled his shirt off to look better at the steadily flowing wound. The skin was raw and puckered around the baseball-sized puncture, and my stomach had seen enough. I wordlessly turned and picked up the small trashcan in the corner, promptly emptying my stomach into it. A hand was laid on my back and I turned to look up at Rick, sympathy reflected in his eyes. The expression caused me to start blubbering and I wiped my mouth before letting myself fall into his chest, succumbing to my panic attack. His shirt was quickly soaked with tears as Denise doused Daryl's stomach wound in alcohol.

"I need to look at his head. Maggie, can you hold this?"

The brunette quickly replaced Denise at Daryl's side, pressing a gauze pad into the wound to staunch the blood flow while Denise began examining his head.

"It's not too deep. He hit it hard and he may have a concussion, but I can stitch this in no time. Glenn, can you get the suture kit please?"

I barely had the will to fight as Rick pulled me gently out of the room, made awkward by the fact that I refused to let go of him. I could feel his body trembling, and I realized that he was just as worried as I was. Daryl was a huge part of us both and to lose him...

I stopped that train before it reached the station and hardly noticed as I was passed from Rick to Michonne, who seemed to materialize out of nowhere. She kept her arms around my shoulders as she sat me down on a couch and a glass of water appeared in front of my eyes. I drank it in seconds, but it didn't do much to calm my racing heart and shaking hands. I raked them through my hair, dropping my head between my knees as Michonne rubbed circles into my shoulders, her head resting against mine.

"He's going to be just fine," she murmured to me. She sounded so confident... "No one can kill that bull-headed son of a bitch."

I let my mouth quirk upwards briefly, knowing that she was completely right, but that knowledge still didn't stop the dread. I could hear Denise in the other room, the clattering of medical tools in the tin, and it sent my body into another twister of panic.

"I can't lose him, Mich," I heard myself muttering as I dragged my hands through my hair again. Her hand on my shoulder tightened and she brushed my hair away from my face, shushing me quietly.

What seemed like eons later, Denise emerged from the bedroom-turned-operating-room, wiping her bloody hands on a dish towel. Sweat covered her forehead, plastering her blonde hair to her skin. She pushed her glasses up her nose with one finger before smiling.

"I closed up his wounds without a hitch. He should make a full recovery."

A wave of relief crashed through the room as everyone released a sigh, save for me. My lip trembled as I looked up at her and asked, "Is he awake?"

She frowned and shook her head slowly. "Not yet. I'm afraid he cracked his melon harder than I thought. He's probably concussed, but he doesn't seem to be showing signs of a brain bleed, so I think now it's all on him to wake up."

Those weren't the words I wanted to hear, and my breath rushed from me in an audible  _whoosh_. Michonne placed her hand on my shoulder and squeezed. My blood rushed to my head and the world started spinning. I wasn't naïve; I knew the chances of him waking up-slim with a side of none. I felt faint and I swayed on my feet.

I vaguely heard someone mutter, "Someone catch her," before I went down and my vision went black.

&

The next time I woke up, I was in my-our-bed alone. My head felt heavy and my throat dry. Then it all rushed back to me as I laid there-Daryl might not ever wake up. The panic I'd felt earlier turned to sadness and in seconds I was dissolved to a teary mess. The door opened and Michonne walked in, leading me to believe that she had been standing guard outside my room.

She sat on the edge of my bed and pulled me into her lap so she could run her hands over my head as I cried. My chest was tightening again and breathing became hard as I let my panic attack take over. I squeezed my eyes shut and let out a heart-wrenching wail, and I felt Michonne flinch. It took me a while to settle down enough to sit up and wipe my eyes and nose.

"Any news?" I asked, my eyelids feeling heavy. She frowned remorsefully and shook her head slowly. I sighed and used the collar of my shirt to wipe my nose. "I want to see him."

"Are you sure-"

"Michonne."

She faltered a moment before nodding and helping me stand. I glanced at myself in the mirror, grunting at my puffy eyes and red face. I shoved my feet into my boots downstairs before I led the way out of the house into the sunlight.

"How long was I out?" I asked idly, squinting up into the sky.

"All night," came Michonne's hesitant reply. I sighed through my nose. "You were pretty worked up."

"Gee, I wonder why," I snapped. Then I sighed again and pinched the bridge of my nose. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean that."

"It's okay," she said with a gentle smile. True honesty shone in her eyes and I knew she hadn't taken offense to it.

We walked the rest of the way in silence and without realizing it, I stopped on the walkway of the infirmary, staring up in fear of what would greet me on the other side. Michonne halted and turned halfway to look at me.

"You can do this, (Y/N)," she said quietly but firmly. Inhaling deeply, I nodded to her and followed her up the stairs.

Denise was busying herself elsewhere, and only Rick was in the room with Daryl when we entered. Upon seeing us, he stood up abruptly and quickly wrapped me in his arms, crushing me to him. This was taking as much of a toll on him as it was me. I swallowed down a fresh wave of tears, feeling that familiar tightening in my chest. He pressed a kiss to my hair before letting me go, and with Michonne, he left, leaving me and the still-unconscious Daryl alone.

I pulled a chair up beside his bed next to his head, which had been bound in gauze. It was recently changed, for there was only a small blood stain seeping through. Letting myself succumb to new tears, I picked up his limp hand in both of mine, clasping it tightly. I pulled it to my face and pressed kisses to his knuckles, running my fingers over his calloused skin.

"You can't leave me," I whispered, looking forlornly at his unmoving face. "You can't. I... I can't do this without you. Any of it. You and me, that's what you always said. It'd be you and me 'til the end. You can't go back on that promise now. I won't let you. You can't go out like this. Out with a bang, not a whimper remember? I need you to wake up now, Daryl. I don't want to face this world without you. I can't.

You always told me how I saved you. I didn't, Daryl. You did that all on your own. And you need to do it again now. You need to wake up because...because I need you to. Because Rick needs you to. Our family needs you, Daryl. There's no us without you. I know how much you hate when I say that, but it's true. You're holding us all together and keeping us sane. Of course, I say that about the redneck with a short fuse."

My voice tightened as I held Daryl's hand between my own. It was warm, which I chose to take a good sign, and his palms and fingers were calloused from years of work. He had dirt under his short nails, and the skin around his thumb was raw from his constant nervous chewing on it. I laced our fingers together, tightening my grip.

"Do you remember when you lost Merle, and I lost Christopher?" My voice dropped to a whisper as I dug around in our pile of painful memories. "I swear that's what brought us closer, that mutual loss. God, I remember how I hated seeing you cry. Someone as strong as you shouldn't ever cry like that... It broke my heart knowing I couldn't do a damn thing. I guess that's how you felt when I lost Chris then, huh? Helpless, clueless as to what to do to help. But Daryl, just your being there, it was enough. It was more than enough. It always has been.

I know you've struggled with that...wondering if you're enough for anyone. But dammit, Daryl, you are, and I hope that you see how happy everyone will be when you wake up. They all miss you. Rick's hardly left your bedside. You can't die on us, Daryl. Don't do that to us, to your family." Without me realizing it, I'd dissolved into tears again, feeling hope floating further and further away that I would look into those blue eyes again.

I covered my mouth with my hands to stifle my sobs, and Daryl's hand fell limply against my thigh. I closed my eyes, my heart physically hurting that I might lose someone else so important to me. I wasn't sure how I could recover from losing Daryl. He was the one who kept me going, the one who kept my spirits up when they felt like crashing down. Grabbing his hand again, I pulled it tightly to me and bent over the bed, sobbing into the sheets.

"Goddamn, woman, you're cuttin' off my circulation."

My heart all but stopped, and I audibly gasped and jolted upright. Blue eyes met mine behind a dark curtain of greasy hair, and I let out a joyous cry before launching myself at him, mindful of his side. He grunted as I buried my face in his neck, crying now but with tears of elation. I felt his arms slowly come around me, holding me gently to him. He carded his fingers through my hair, shushing me quietly and kissing my forehead.

"I'm here," he whispered hoarsely, repeating it over and over again.

"I'm so happy you're all right," I sobbed to him, pulling back to look down at him through blurry eyes. Moisture pooled in his eyes as he looked up at me and I gasped again as his hand moved up to the back of my head and he pulled me down to crash our lips together. Our tears mingled as he took the lead, his grip on my head softening as our mouths moved against one another.

We pulled away breathlessly, but Daryl kept our foreheads pressed together. His hand ran over my cheek and I pressed kisses to his palm, tears still sliding steadily down my face. I felt my eyes widen in realization before I pulled out of his arms, ignoring his confused grunt, and headed to the door.

"Rick!" I hollered. "Rick!"

Numerous pairs of footsteps echoed through the hallway and soon, Rick, Michonne, Glenn, Maggie, Carol...everyone was there to greet Daryl. Relieved tears and smiles were on everyone's face as they exchanged happy glances. Daryl's eyes darted from one person to another and I stepped aside to let a few people in at a time. Michonne was one of the few to remain outside the door and she smiled brightly at me, her teeth stark white against her dark skin. Her eyes were watery; I knew Michonne and Daryl were close, though they didn't often say too much to one another.

As the reunion continued in Daryl's room, the hunter's eyes found mine amongst everyone else. He held my gaze, his eyes saying so much more than his mouth. His mouth quirked upwards in one of his signature half-smiles. I smiled back without hesitation, my heart now light and fluttering knowing he was still here with me, with our family.


End file.
